Ornamental Accomplishments will but indifferently qualify a woman to perform the duties of life, though it is highly proper she should possess them for amusement.

— Hannah More (1745 — 1833), The LadiesPocket Library, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1792

"How many from Haven Harbor died?"

Patrick held my hand as we joined the crowd of Haven Harbor residents walking toward the waterfront.

The bright sunshine of a late April day would have warmed us, even here on the coast of Maine, if a stiff sea breeze hadn't been blowing from around the Three Sisters, islands that protected our harbor from the full brunt of the ocean.

"One hundred and twenty-three. The first, a twelve-year-old boy who fell from the rigging, and the most recent, Arwin Fraser's father. His ankle caught in a trap rope and pulled him overboard two years ago. Gram wrote to me about it when I was in Arizona." I shivered, despite the heavy sweatshirt I was wearing. Five of my ancestors' names were carved on the large granite memorial near the town wharf.

"But Arwin lobsters," Patrick pointed out. "His father's death didn't discourage him."

"Men in his family have always fished or lobstered. He inherited his father's boat." Those who worked the waters knew the risks. Arwin had probably never considered another profession.

The words LOST AT SEA NOT FORGOTTEN were carved at the top of the granite memorial above the outline of a three-masted schooner and the list of names and years. The memorial had been raised in 1890, with ample space left to be filled in the future. So far all the names were of Haven Harbor men and boys, but more women fished and lobstered every year. Inevitably, some of their names would be added. The sea was an equal opportunity killer.

Like most Harbor residents, I'd attended the annual reading of the names and Blessing of the Fleet since I was a child, walking down from our house on the Green with Mama and Gram. Walking from the same home two of those men hadn't returned to.

Gram always reminded me that Blessing of the Fleet day was both a time to remember and a time to pray for the safety of those who still tempted nature's power every day by making their living from the sea. I remembered imagining the lives of those who'd been lost, many of them not much older than I was, but also enjoying the Blessing ceremony and knowing that our small community was praying together.

At a Blessing Day one hundred years ago the islands and the harbor and the streets of Haven Harbor would have been the same. But women gathering at the waterfront would have worn ankle-length skirts and their long hair would have been pinned under big hats decorated with the feathers of now-extinct birds. Men would have been somber in their best suits with high collars, or perhaps in their World War I uniforms. They'd be remembering comrades who'd fallen during the war, as well as those lost at sea.

Clothing might have changed over the years, but the parade of mourners hoping their prayers and the Blessing of the Fleet would protect our men from the sea's power was the same. As long as men and women made a living from the waters, mourning and remembering would continue, and names would continue to be carved on the monument.

No wonder the Greeks and Romans prayed to gods of the sea. Waters were unpredictable.

I shook my head, chasing pictures of the past away, and smiled at Patrick. Because of my ten years in Arizona I hadn't attended a Blessing since my senior year in high school. Certainly the reading of the names was one of the more somber yearly occasions in Haven Harbor, but the prayers that followed were joyful, hoping for fair winds and following seas, a good catch, and safe harbors for all those who made their living from cold Maine waters.

"Will Reverend Tom be reading the names and conducting the Blessing?" asked Patrick.

This was Patrick's first spring in Haven Harbor; his first Blessing.

"Local pastors, priests, rabbis, and imams take turns. They'll all be on the wharf today, but it's Reverend Tom's year. He and Gram went down to the town wharf a couple of hours ago to talk with the captains of the boats to be blessed and arrange the parade."

"The parade?"

"The order of the boats to sail by and be blessed," I explained.

"Looks like everyone in town is here."

I nodded. Ed Campbell, head of the Chamber of Commerce, and his wife, Diane, were talking to Reverend Tom, while Gram was chatting with Sandra and Jim Lewis, who lived near me. I'd seen them around town and in church but didn't know them well. I'd admired their yard, though, filled with bright daffodils, late-blooming crocuses, and wide patches of lilies of the valley. Sandra must be a hard worker. She managed to take care of Jim, who was in a wheelchair, and garden too.

Across Main Street, Dave Percy and Sarah Byrne were walking slowly next to Ruth Hopkins. I waved as the crowd parted for Ruth and her walker. Dave and Sarah and Ruth were Mainely Needlepointers, along with Gram and me and Captain Ob and his wife, Anna, who were undoubtedly out on their fishing boat in the harbor now, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Mary Clough and Cos Curran, who'd graduate from Haven Harbor High in June, were chatting with several of their classmates near Gus Gleason's Book Nook, where Cos has been working part-time this spring. Gus and his wife, Nancy, were talking to Henri and Nicole Thibodeau, owners of the local patisserie. Their hot cross buns had been even more spectacular than usual this year. I wished they made them all year round. Cindy Bouchard, the home health aide who took care of Henri's mother, who had Alzheimer's, was wheeling Madame Thibodeau.

Sergeant Pete Lambert was trying to direct traffic so a few cars could make their way through the crowd now filling the streets leading to the waterfront.

"Let's join Sarah and Dave and Ruth," I suggested, and Patrick and I maneuvered our way through the crowd to where our friends had stopped.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Patrick said to Dave as I hugged Sarah and Ruth.

"Seven weeks to go before school's over. Then I can see people other than teachers and students," Dave agreed. He taught biology at Haven Harbor High. "I don't know who's more ready for summer vacation, the kids or me."

"Good to see you out and about," I said to Ruth.

"Glad to be here," she agreed. "My arthritis is much better in summer, so I'm looking forward to warmer days. But this past winter you and Sarah and Dave were wonderful about making sure I got out of my house, even in snow and ice."

"Everyone needs to breathe fresh air sometimes," I agreed, looking around. "It looks as though everyone in town is here."

I held up my phone and snapped pictures of all the Mainely Needlepointers.

"Don't take pictures of me," said Ruth, trying to duck. "I'm too old. I don't want anyone to see what I look like now."

"We see you, and we love you," Sarah assured her. "But why the pictures, Angie?"

I shrugged. "Some of our website's out-of-state customers have said they're curious about us and our lives here. Someday I may come up with a newsletter, or put some pictures on our website. Or start a Facebook page."

"I suspect they're more interested in how our custom needlepoint will fit into their homes," Sarah answered, making a face as I clicked my phone. It was going to be harder than I'd thought to get relaxed, candid photos of the...